


Truth? Yeah, That's The Truth

by CookieCatSU



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: He saw the truth, and thought everyone else should see it too. The issue, is that there is no one truth.Tens of years later, John considers that maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong.
Relationships: Merle Highchurch/The Hunger | John
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Truth? Yeah, That's The Truth

He saw the truth, and thought everyone else should see it too. The issue, is that there is no one truth.

Tens of years later, he considers that maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong.

Perhaps it's all the voices, all the eyes, that push him to consider. He'd always relished in his individuality, in his importance, all his life. He'd been part of the Hunger, for so long, that he'd forgotten what it was like, being human. Being singular.

Then that insufferable dwarf is seated beside him, having popped up out of nowhere as is always the case, with his big mouth, and his bigger heart, and something shifts.

It's the first time he realizes how trapped he really is.

"What's your name?" Is his third question after first appearing in that stark white room. John's brow furrows, his usually crisp, unflappable appearance visibly disgruntled.

He struggles to remember.

When the word is finally on his lips, he feels something stirring. He hates it, because it's confusing. He hasn't felt anything in a long time.

"John" His throat is tight and scraping, and he decides he hates that too, "My name is- used, to be John"

That's when he notices all the eyes on him. The eyes always on him, watching, breathing down his neck. His skin prickles, and he clasps his hands under his chin. Stony faced.

"Used to be?" He says, laughing, but that's it. He waves his hand, "Well, the name's Merle, Merle Highchurch, in case you were wondering" The dwarf replies, as if it matters.

John nods, as if it matters.

They talk for a while. Merle talks for awhile, to him. To them. The Hunger.

It's a dandy little talk, a probing search for information conducted by both sides. Such a fascinating push and pull. Mutual, almost.

Merle even makes him laugh. The sound bursts from him, an infectious rumble from deep in his throat. He clutches at his stomach, head thrown back, as he laughs.

It surprises him as soon as he hears it. He hasn't laughed in a long time. He… he misses the feeling.

He hadn't felt in a long time. Nothing palpable, other than hunger. Dissatisfaction. Desperation, even. For all the souls, wrapped around his neck, fused in his skin, clawing at his back.

This is something else entirely. Fear, perhaps?

Yes, fear. The all consuming, drowning kind. The eyes, prickling against his back, are proof of that.

* * *

John. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. It was a good name, he thought.

John comes with a lot of baggage. It's impossible to separate him from all the voices, the millions of souls and bonds, for so very long. They are him and he is them, and it's all just too much.

Then he is alone, and somehow that is worse. He sits, and the voices are gone, and somehow that is worse.

He feels again, and none of it is dampened by the collective. Watered down by the hunger. It's all _him_. Just him, every achy muscle, and gagging breath, and apprehensive little sliver of fear. Somehow, that's much worse.

He wipes at his face, at cracks etched into his skin, lines once bleeding with unnatural color, between sheets of obsidian opal, and decides he'll just have to get used to it. Adjusts his tie, and decides he'll just have to adjust.

It's fine. He's adjusted before.

At least, John was still a fine name. He likes the way it sounds on his lips, even as he's spluttering and gagging. It's been a long time, since he's said it. Since he's been just John.

It's nice, he supposes, in that novel kind of way.

* * *

Insatiable. Nothing was ever enough, for such a long time.

Now, he reads a book. It's not the greatest book. In fact, it's quite juvenile, and he sees all the plot points a mile ahead. But the pages are crisp against his fingertips, and the words fill his head so nicely, and it's enough for him.

He isn't sure why it ever hadn't been.

He isn't sure what he'd been hungering for, so profoundly.

Merle sits beside him, reading glasses perched precariously across the bridge of his nose. He's amused, and he laughs. Sudden. Rumbling.

"Can you believe this guy!' He throws his hand down, pointing at whatever magazine article he was reading. John shakes his head fondly.

"Nope"

"He's jumping off of cliffs, apparently"

Merle turns to him, shaking his head, grinning with a roll of his eyes. It's all so inane, and silly, and endearing. And no, it's not perfect. But it's enough.

More than he could have asked for. More than he's hungered for, for millenia.

A presence to latch onto. To cling to. To fill the phantom emptiness. Someone who cares.

He snags Merle's hand from across the table. Their fingers intertwine. The dwarve's soulwood hand is smooth and only slightly knotted and inexplicably warm. He brushes his thumb against the back of his hand.

Merle laughs, and yelps about how ticklish he is. John stares for a moment, and then he too bursts into laughter.

Not perfect. But it, this, is enough for him.

That's the truth.


End file.
